


Wetdream//Nightmare

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Anal Sex, Bro Strider Mention, Bulges and Nooks, Car Sex, Come Inflation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Sex, Demon/Human Relationships, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent on Both Sides, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Horns, Horns As Handles, Humanstuck, Karkat Used To Be Human But That's A Spoiler, M/M, No Refractory Period, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Nook Eating, Nook Worship, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Penis expansion, Rape, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Sex in a Car, Shapeshifting, Succubi & Incubi, Succubus Karkat Vantas, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle tongue, Unrealistic Sex, Vaginal Sex, allusion to underage, expand dong - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: Dave Strider is, presumably, a demon hunter. Parked in the middle of nowhere. With a really shitty defensive ward on his car, trying to sleep. Quite frankly, something worse should have gotten him than a succubus who needed a ride.





	Wetdream//Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Essynkardi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essynkardi/gifts).



> Please read the warnings! There's a lot for a reason, and I do *not* lightly say that this is a rape fic. It's meant to be porn, yes, but it's still fucked up.
> 
> Anyway I wrote this over the course of a year and it's loosely based on a very old demonstuck RP I did with my moirail. Please enjoy and tell me if I need to tag anything!
> 
> May become a series, if I ever get to expanding on why Karkat is a) a succubus, and b) absolutely horrible. Trust me, there's a reason, I just have to get off my ass and write it.

It's gonna be another one of those _really_ miserable nights.

Your name is Dave Strider and you call yourself a demon hunter and exorcist, but realistically you're a failure. You've got no cash, no jobs, and only a quarter of a tank of gas left, living out of a 2004 Subaru Outback that reeks of weed and too few showers.

The last substantial thing you ate was a box of chicken nuggets and some lemonade, your weed stash is uncomfortably low, and the taste of the cheap tobacco you've been cutting it with sticks in the back of your throat. It would be marginally less miserable if you at least had a motel room to get back to, but again, no cash, so you're stuck in your car again until you can ply your questionable trade somewhere for a couple bucks.

Sure, you’re undercharging, but it's not a good time to be very choosy, and anyone who hires you is probably just as desperate as you are. In the summer, and it’s the middle of summer, the nights are short, sticky, and full of horrors. At least you don’t have to worry about dying of hypothermia while you’re scrounging up cash.

The mosquitoes or the car stank still might kill you, though. It's pretty dubious to say that's a good thing.

You grunt irritably as you bump your head on the ceiling when you pull your jacket and shirt off, rolling down the windows so you don't suffocate in the night. Sweat drips off your hair and the end of your nose as you bundle up your stale clothes and toss them against the back door, clumped up into a small pillow. When you lie down across the lumpy, stained mattress, you're maybe slightly more comfortable than you would be were you sleeping in the driver’s seat.

You sigh, looking up at the sky through the window and the blackened edge of what might be a sign or a wall. You're between towns right now, pulled over in the shadow of what might have once been a barn or a house or whatever, but it looks like it was burned down a long time ago. The posts left standing are choked with weeds and vines, with spiders and birds nested in the tumbled roofing. It gives you the chills to look at it, but you've got wards all over your car and nothing responsible for burning a house down should be able to get in. So you hope.

Tomorrow you hope you'll get to a gas station with a ghost in the bathroom or something. Spooky shit has been crawling all over the state of Indiana these days, so it's likelier than you might think. For a hopeless loser, you're riding on hope a lot this month.

… _Still_ , it’s better than living with your brother. _Anything_ is better than living with Bro, and you'll just have to keep reminding yourself.

You yawn and slap a mosquito off your cheek before it can be a problem. You kind of need to shave soon, too; it’s another thing on the lengthening list of personal hygiene details you really need to catch up on, so you close your eyes and resolve to at least try not to be a disgusting hobo tomorrow.

Crickets chirp outside. You find yourself closing your eyes, the night noises lulling you to sleep.

~!~

You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming. It’s weird, because you’re not usually aware of your dreams, but that’s the only explanation you have for why you can’t muster up any sense of panic when you open your eyes and can’t move anything from the shoulders down.

Everything feels off; floaty, like you’re disconnected from gravity, but heavy at the same time. You can barely breathe, which tickles at the panic in the back of your head a little but doesn’t entirely wake it up. Your cock is also trying to get your attention in what has to be the worst way possible, achingly hard, almost sore, and… wet?

You want to move your hips up, following the wet warmth that curls just around the tip, before you remember you’re supposed to be in your car, alone, and in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

To your credit, you don’t exactly panic until you open your eyes and, with an effort you should win an award for, tilt your head down to look at your feet. Instead of seeing your feet, you find… _something_ , crouched over your hips and looking up at you with its lips wrapped around the head of your dick.

You try to scream, and it comes out a weak croak.

Whatever it is, it laughs softly around your cock, a humming kind of laugh that feels way too good for the situation you're in. It swallows a little, bobbing its head as it goes a couple inches down and _fuck_ , that feels _really_ good, better than it has any right to feel. Fear and heat coil sickly in your guts. Sinfully soft lips, inky, shiny black, slide slowly up your cock again and leave a slick, gleaming trail of spit in their wake.

They pop off with an obscene _shlick_ , and then their face tilts up to regard you, eyes slightly lidded, almost lazy looking. You would shiver if you could move any more than you’ve already tried to. They grin down at you and you feel more than you can really see a hand walking two fingers up your thigh, over your hip, and then across your cock. You gulp when you can focus on them. Those nails are more like claws, and the color of fresh blood besides.

“So, I know what you’re thinking.” They say, voice low and sultry and distantly terrifying. Your eyes snap up to that face again, too human and yet not. “Or at least I’ve got a pretty decent guess. This is a dream, right? Well, it should’ve been, anyway; I didn’t expect you to wake up while I was busy, but I guess this actually works out better for me.”

Their fingers are rubbing circles against the base of your dick, never letting you forget the inch-long talons attached to them, and you kind of hate that it’s turning you on more to know those are down there. Their eyes glance down to your dick and they lick their lips. “I’ve just been hiding in this spot for a while, waiting for someone like you with a cute, pent-up cock and a frat house worth of repressed sexuality to wander by, and I’ve been _starving_ this whole time.”

They- he, something about them sort of pings you as a he all of a sudden, twists into your mind like he stabbed you with the end of that wicked-looking tail- he licks from where he’d been rubbing his fingers in, up to the tip; kisses it with his eyes closed like you’re doing him a favor. You moan weakly while you try to get control of your arms again, though you’re still entirely unable to do more than twitch your fingers.

He pokes the tip with the end of one claw and kisses the spot right under it, mock-chaste this time. “Your soul probably wouldn’t be worth much, but a soul’s a soul; I’ll take what I can get. You know what lean times are like, right?”

You get a sudden smack of memory to the face, which very nearly kills your boner when you realize what's going on.

This guy is a succubus.

This guy is a fucking _sex demon_ , the kind you're pretty sure actually eat souls and maybe the rest of you if you let them, or get you addicted to what they can do to you until you're a shriveled up husk begging for more. He looks concerned at the decidedly not aroused twitch your cock does, before looking slightly pissed at it.

“Oh, no, you _don’t_.” He hisses, to your dick, which would be endearing on anyone else but on him is just letting you know you _really_ need to break out of whatever hold he has on you right now. Also you kind of want to tell him _dude, I’m up here_ , but he also called your dick cute, so you’re not sure how much of his attention you want drawn to yourself and your slightly bruised ego right now.

Your ego is a little busy cowering in a corner while your libido takes the wheel, though, because his tongue just slithered out of his mouth a lot longer than it has any right to be, wrapping its way around the base of your cock. You’re pretty sure saw the flesh distorting and lengthening around the middle of his tongue, but that doesn’t matter because holy _shit_ it’s coiling up the shaft like some kind of weird sex snake; you’re living in a hentai now, you really are, and you have to tilt your head back and look away, gasping as he swallows your dick.

His tongue makes it that much tighter in there, textured and hot and _incredibly_ fucking weird, but you’re not going to last much longer like this if he keeps it up, either; and for once you’d complain about an orgasm that feels like it’s going to rip you apart, because uh, yeah, it might actually rip your soul into tiny pieces that he can drink through your dick.

The sound of it doesn’t help at all; you whimper in the back of your throat again, trying to say something, trying to tell him to fuck off or beg him for mercy. All you can hear is your own heartbeat and the wet noises he’s making between your legs; you can see him in your mind, eyes boring into you with his lips pressed tight to your crotch before he pulls back up with suck-hollowed cheeks. You want to cum like nothing else and you're _terrified_ to.

And then it stops. You would shiver if you could, but he stops bobbing and sucking (mercifully, you think, but probably not), and you look down again to see him unwrapping his tongue and drawing it back into his mouth with a smile. Your dick is very notably still leaking and hard, practically throbbing, and you internally flinch when he flicks the head with the end of one finger even though it doesn't even sting.

“Needs a little more… hm, _something_.” He says, biting his bottom lip as he thinks it over. Mostly you’re conflicted about this “something” he’s talking about, because he says it like he’s going to start cracking eggs and squirting mustard over your bits, which, by the way, doesn’t sound like a fun time to you at all, and despite how good it felt to have him blow you like a pornstar you’re still not pleased with him doing it to get a soul out of you.

He slides his hands up your sides again, the rest of him following suit until you’re face to face with him. It’s a little gross that you can sort of smell your dick on his breath, but this close you have more problems to deal with. You try to follow one of his hands with your eyes, as he brings it up to your face, the pad of one finger pressing into your lips.

Something in your throat snaps like a piece of piano wire and suddenly you can breathe easier, and you can hear yourself take gasping, rattling breaths as whatever pressure was on your chest just _lifts_.

“What the _fuck_ ,” You hiss at him, still trying to get used to being able to speak again. “Get the fuck away from me!”

He smiles. “That’s not what this is saying.” He says, and you feel him palming your dick again, still hard and getting a little chilly actually; his hand is strikingly hot when he touches you again. You bare your teeth at him and he kisses you on the nose. “Calm down, I decided I’m going to make you a deal. I was expecting slightly more down here from someone wandering around with wards practically begging to be picked apart, but it looks like I should have expected to be disappointed if you didn’t even do that on purpose.”

You flush, hotly; the way he says it cuts closer to home than you’d like to admit, reminds you too much of what you used to deal with aaaand there goes your arousal again, flagging because you thought of home. He frowns and starts stroking your cock in slow, even, expertly teasing strokes; it’s still wet with his spit, and the texture of his fingers is exactly the kind of friction that just keeps you on edge.

“What makes you think I want to make a deal with you?” You grit your teeth and he looks mock-surprised before walking a couple fingers up your neck and tracing a line across your cheek with one claw. It itches, almost stings, and you’re not sure if he just cut you or not, but his other hand is still on your dick so he can probably tell you’re hoping it did. His smile comes back wider, and you see some pretty big teeth in it, sharp and white.

That is just unfairly sexy, you think, and then you wonder if you really think that or he can _make_ you think that.

“I’m not using magic to keep _this_ up, for starters.” He says, as he gives you a squeeze that makes you want to bounce your leg. “And I can tell how much you want this even though you tell yourself you don’t. I didn’t even have to get out of my preferred shape to get you like this, you filthy monster-fucker. You're worse than all the desperate farmhands I've had to blow to get me out of Hell.”

“Someone clearly wasn’t informed on the whole arousal-isn’t-consent thing, goddamn.” You’re trying to play it off, but he’s right; he’s like everything about him was tailor-made to appeal to you, which it probably was if you’ve got your lore right. His teeth glint in the half-light in your car and this time he kisses you on the mouth, sensual and slow and entirely too gentle for your liking, too much like he isn’t just taking what he wants.

So you bite him, hard, and don’t let go until you taste blood. This is probably a horrible idea when he’s still got fingers with blades on the ends around your dick, but you don’t really care; maybe some sick part of you wants him to gouge into your flesh, too. He shrieks and pulls back, touching his lip; blackish blood dribbles down his chin before his tongue swipes it up again, and you’re a little disappointed that he doesn’t keep bleeding.

“Okay, so, on the one hand, I’m happy to discover that you _aren’t_ a spineless, mewling shitbaby, so I feel a little less bad about doing what I'm about to do to you. On the other hand, that hurt like a bitch.” He squeezes your face in his other hand, tilting your head up so you have to look him in the eye.

“You really want to get down to business, huh? Some kind of rich golden fiddle shit, coming from you.” Your lips are kind of puckered like this, his nails digging into your cheeks. “You’re not really doing anything to convince me you have my best interests at heart, here.”

“I _don’t_ , clearly, so you don’t have to worry about that, but I want to make my meals last, which I _can_ do if you cooperate.” He licks his lips again, hungrily; he looks down at you like you’re the first meal he’s seen in weeks, which you probably are. "I'm starving, and you have potential. I don't know when I'll next get the chance to get something to eat around here… but I can make a deal, a _mutually beneficial_ deal, to make sure you actually fucking catch that, and neither of us will have to leave here unsatisfied, yeah?"

You really, really hate how sexy that look is on his stupid, pretty face. “And if I don’t want you to?”

“Well you won’t die, like you're obviously hoping to so you can bribe someone in Hell for you to come back healthy and whole. Not soon and not quickly, at least. Infernal bureaucracy is worse than anything you might imagine.” He purses his lips into an irritable pout and the dumb, horny monkey in the back of your mind is telling you how nice it would be to kiss him. He taps his claws along your cheek, like someone might tap their nails on a table. “I can do a lot for you. I can bring you food, or money, or have sex with you whenever you want; I can't make you rich or famous, but you and I both know you don't want that anyway."

He's got you there.

"So what do you say? Choice is yours; do you want a bigger cock or what?”

You practically hear a record scratch when the words are out of his mouth. You choke, and then laugh, and he growls at you and shakes your face. "What's so funny?"

"Did you seriously just ask me if I want a bigger dick?" You ask, and you're honestly loving the stunned, downright _offended_ look on his face as you laugh in it, even though you can tell from the strength in his grip that you _definitely_ don't want to piss him off while you can't fight back. You backtrack. "Like yeah, of course I want a bigger dick, what guy doesn't? I mean, way to go, my dude, you've discovered the most primal desire of half the human race, right up there with motherfucking Freud: We all want the Bologne Whale, not the Discount Spam Porpoise, no matter how goddamn inconvenient it might be to remember to tuck Sergeant Slappy and the Hairies into one side of your underwear every time you get dressed like goddamn if you thought having your balls stick to the inside of your thigh was bad enough _already_ -"

He does a little zipping motion that you barely notice except for the fact that you feel like the entrance to your throat was pulled tight like a bunching thread, or the anus of a man hiding drugs and jerky from an airport security dog. You'd extend that metaphor further if not for, you know, the inability to speak, and the only dubious grace of being _sort of_ allowed to breathe. He doesn't look impressed, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaving you to squirm for maybe half a minute or so, until the edges of your vision start getting spotty and grey. Then he snaps his fingers again, and you gasp, coughing hard as too much air rushes into your lungs and you choke a little on it.

"Let's try that one again." He says, resting on your chest like a massive, unfairly sexy feline of some kind. Something gleams in his eye as he gets an idea, which chases away a little of your amusement and rekindles both your fear and your lust. "Maybe you really would rather the alternative. If I do this right, I think this could be almost as much fun."

"Do I want to know what you mean by that?" Your mouth feels a little dry, so your voice comes out quieter than you'd like, but still biting enough to annoy him, you hope. No such luck by the look on his face, he's too busy thinking over what he wants to do to you, or maybe where to start taking bites out first; he settles over you in a way that makes you _intimately_ aware of the way his bare thighs brace around your hips, the way he slowly gyrates above you, grinding against you, making you wish you had the bodily autonomy left to grab him by the hips and _fuck_.

That's probably exactly what he wants, too. Probably. You're not too up for introspection when you feel a different, wetter warmth on your dick, distantly registering in the back of your mind as _oh, he has a pussy_ , for all of about three seconds before his mouth is on yours. You feel his hands in your hair and on the sides of your face as his tongue pushes past your lips, and you make a strangled noise in the back of your throat as he sucks on your lower lip. He nibbles it, too, between those shark teeth of his, tickling, barely nicking the delicate inside of your mouth, before he lets go again and starts _moving_.

His eyes are closed. You can feel his eyelashes on your cheeks. But you don't have it in you to focus too much on them, anyway, as he lifts his hips up and pushes back down with just the right angle to get the head of your cock between the slick folds of his cunt. Sweat pools hot and sticky on the back of your neck as he holds the position impossibly long, occasionally shifting his hips so you don't get used to the feeling for barely more than a second before you feel the urge to push up into the slick warmth of him again. You whimper, hating yourself for it, and he moans into your mouth like he's laughing at you, like he's drinking in every twitch and noise and desperate clench of your mostly-frozen fingers.

It feels like it's going to go on like that forever, and you're kind of amazed that he's got the fine control to keep you from orgasm this long when _you_ sure as fuck don't, though maybe being a sex demon comes with that kind of perk. You're lost in the way he touches you, the way he tilts your head so he can get his tongue deeper in your mouth, the way the blood-warm heat of him presses down on you and lights up every nerve from collarbones to crotch. You're lost in it long enough for him to surprise you when he backs out of the kiss and leaves you gasping for breath that won't come.

The air in the car is cooler on your face than it was a second ago, now that he's not draped over you, and makes the heat below the belt a lot more intense when you feel it envelope your cock fully. You tilt your head back with your mouth open to moan, but then he grabs you by the hair and pulls your head forward so you're forced to watch his cunt taking your dick like it was made for you, tight and wet, hotter than even his mouth.

Your mind is going blank from how good it is, the look and feel of his pussy lips wrapped around your dick, the trickle of something wet and warm down your balls. You can feel tight, coiling pressure just above and behind your cock, winding up and ready to snap any second, and the thought of filling him up with your cum is almost enough to let you forget that your soul is on the line.

His hand in your hair hurts, but that only makes the slick tightness of his pussy that much better as he pulls himself up, then goes back down, thighs tensing and relaxing as he fucks himself on you painfully slow. He must've been teasing himself too with that entire routine, or you like to think he has; you still can't move but you can imagine thrusting up into him, making him bounce on your cock while he yelps and swears in as much pleasure as he's forcing on you. More, maybe. _You_ certainly want more.

You want to see him wrecked and begging as you thrust into him, eyes hazy and that smug grin of his replaced by parted lips and breathy, pleading gasps. _Fuck_ , you're almost there, he just needs to keep doing what he's doing and let you fantasize, you're close enough that it's getting to be physically painful. You don't even need him to take your dick the whole way in, you just need him to keep moving while your mind does the rest, imagining his body arched above you, the sounds he might make, the way his claws would dig into your shoulders.

He doesn't give you that chance.

"Don't fall asleep on me, you inconsiderate shit."

His voice slices through your daydream like a razor through a tissue.

You clench your teeth with a dissatisfied grunt as he pulls your hair harder, giving your head a little shake, and you kind of hate him for it when he pulls off your cock entirely. You get treated to a really good look at his parted labia sliding off your cock, a dribble of fluid still connecting the throbbing head to his pussy, and you swear in that moment you would have given him your soul if he would just sit back down and let you finish. He laughs at you and rubs his fingers into your scalp where it was starting to get sore.

"I still need something else from you, you know." He says. You find yourself growling, or maybe more like groaning, but growling feels more like what it should be; you're just that fucking frustrated. "If not a deal, then a favor."

"A favor, okay, whatever, I can live with that." Your voice did not just crack, shut up. Hasty decisions aside, you mostly just want to say whatever it'll take for him to get back on your dick. You don't have the brain matter left over after what he's been doing to you for the past personal eternity or so to rethink your wording, or even think for very long between brain and mouth. "Spill it and let's get this over with, or at least give me back control over my own bits and pieces again so I can get this over with."

You hear the metallic scrape of that blade on his tail as it drags across the wall, and maybe if you were less focused on getting off you'd be mad at him for leaving scratch marks on the upholstery, but you're busy watching him as he moves over you until his crotch is pretty much all you see unless you crane your head very carefully and, _wow_ , yep, that's his pussy, positioned directly above you. Also that gloriously bubbly butt, which you wish you could squeeze or bite or _something_ to that effect, as he carefully turns around until you feel his breath on your dick again.

Weight comes off your shoulders, suddenly; you try to twitch your fingers one more time and… you can lift your arms up, but just your arms, and you're so distracted by his assets (and ass) that you don't try to shove him off like you probably should.

Instead you wrap your arms around his thighs and bring him down, mashing your face up against his cunt and giving him a good, sloppy suck. He makes a pleased noise at that, breathy and high, and you do it again and again like you needed pussy like you need air. Your tongue pushes into him and you're rewarded with a squeeze around it that kind of makes you do a doubletake, mentally, but also makes you think _why didn't he do that around my cock_? Because holy _shit_.

He chuckles, then moans again as you start sucking on his clit. Or at least you think it's a clit, until it starts extending like his tongue did, filling your mouth like a really fat tongue, or a really weird dick. It never gets uncomfortably huge except when it pulses against the opening of your throat, almost like a threat. Then it recedes again, as if it was never there, leaving your mouth warm and oily in a way that makes your head spin. Drugged by demon cock, that's a new one.

"I'm still in charge here, bitch; so keep that in mind while you're down there." He says, muffled by his own thighs around your head, which you can feel quivering in your grip. It makes you feel pretty good about yourself, that you can make a sex demon at least a little shaky at the knees.

You moan when he takes hold of your dick again, because you're pretty sure this is the part where you jizz out your soul for him. But you're well past caring about your immortal soul, and if this is the last thing you remember before becoming a mindless demon thrall, you want it to be good.

You don't want to half-ass your last meal on God's wretched Earth, either, so you _really_ get in there, make him gasp as you eat his pussy and make him grind into your mouth. His breath stutters as he squeezes around your tongue, your lips pressed tight to that hot, twitching hole, viscous warmth leaking down the sides of your face and into your hair. It'd be disgusting in any other context, but in this one it makes you try to reach as far as you can, far enough that your jaw starts to ache.

His mouth goes around your dick again, though you can only really feel his lips and the perfect ring they make, just barely gliding across the skin of your cock. You whimper but that only encourages you to keep going, like maybe you're trying to break his concentration or maybe you want him to cum when you do, but it seems to be working because his claws skitter across your thighs through the fabric of your pants and you know they're probably ruined from the bright lines of pain that follow.

His claws make their way a little higher up to the exposed skin of your hips, and you jerk involuntarily, eagerly, into his mouth.

His mouth goes around your dick again, though you can only really feel his lips and the perfect ring they make, just barely gliding across the skin of your cock, and the heat of his breath. You whimper but that only encourages you to keep going, like maybe you're trying to break his concentration or maybe you want him to cum when you do, but it seems to be working because his claws skitter across your thighs through the fabric of your pants and you know they're probably ruined from the bright lines of pain that follow.

"The fuck?" You mutter, though it's still mostly muffled when he sits up and practically buries you in his ass. If this is how you go, well, you can think of worse ways than smothered under a butt like this. For real though, you can't breathe and you want to cum before anything else, you're pretty sure your mind has been thoroughly fucked by his games and you don't give a shit anymore. You slap his ass, hard, and only then does he grip your cock again, too tight. _Punishingly_ tight.

Actually, he's doing this thing where he lets go just enough that you only feel the pads of his fingers and the barest touch of his palm, and then he squeezes again. You can feel him purring above you, which would be adorable and maybe kind of sexy if you had any idea what was going on. He does this three times before he pulls off you altogether, and you gasp for air that isn't flavored with demon taint for a minute before looking down again. Your cock is still there, thank God, and his hand is still on it. Something seems wrong, though. His hand looks a lot smaller than it did a while ago, or maybe your dick just looks bigger.

…

Wait just a diddly-darn motherfucking _second_.

Yeah, your cock definitely grew a bunch.

"You like it?" He says, giving the base a squeeze and tilting it towards you. Jesus fucking Christ, there's enough of it showing over his hand that he _can_ tilt it towards you, and it even _flops_ a little as he does so. That's a grower, right? You sure as fuck hope that's a grower, if this is what it looks like hard. You don't think you could handle having it this big when it's soft. You're stunned enough that you're not sure if you're handling it at all, and it takes another lick from him and the fact that you managed to sit up before you realize you're free to move again.

You stare, and then you laugh, breathless and confused. "I thought you just wanted me to do you a favor, you conniving shit." You mutter.

"This looks like a favor to me, alright. If you're not into it, well, too bad, it's going to take a while to wear off if it does at all." He does a derisive little huff, blowing hair out of his eyes and smiling- well, really, smirking at you, what a devious little motherfucker, and it's adorable- before moving to push you onto your back again. "I wasn't really specific when I was making it bigger. But I think we can both live with that, right?"

You're not sure how much you want to "live with" a demon who can apparently move your bits and pieces around no problem like that, but also you do have to admit it's pretty sexy, and you're still hard as a goddamn rock. But you're also done being his chew toy, and when he straddles your hips again, you take advantage of the fact that he seems to have spent enough magic or attention on growing your dick to not notice that you could move again no problem.

He's only got the blunt tip pressed against his sloppy-wet labia again before you jerk your hips up and push the whole head in, making him gasp and actually go wide-eyed in surprise. You press the advantage a little further, grabbing him by the hips and _slamming_ , inches into him all at once, relishing in how his eyes flutter closed and his cunt tightens up around the intrusion. Fuck, you yourself almost lose out on your half-baked plan when he does that; the sight is almost too much.

You don't give him the time to recover before you sit up and push him on his back; there's a lot of graceless flailing and a squawk of surprise, and you're pretty sure his tail just smacked you across the face, hard enough to daze you but thankfully not the pointy end, but you have your hands around his slender throat, his pulse humming under your thumbs like a scared bird.

You hate how much you love how he looks like this. You growl down at him and start to move, never giving him the time to breathe properly or get his bearings while you squeeze around his throat and feel his breath stutter under your grip, feel his cunt tighten up and practically suck you in on every thrust.

Fuck, it feels so good you barely consider what you're doing anymore, too focused on thrusting into his pliant flesh while he claws at your wrists and struggles to breathe. You didn't even know he _needed_ to breathe.

Then again, it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't, you're not supposed to let him live, are you? Some horrifying part of you suggests fucking him until he stops breathing, and that almost makes you pause before you realize the thought only makes you want more. He was right about you; you're a sick fucking bastard, choking out a demon to get your kicks. Does this count as rape? Are you a rapist now? He was definitely raping _you_ a little while ago.

But you're not ready to face the ethical ramifications of what you're doing right now. You look down at him, his flushed face and open mouth and eyes screwed shut while he tries his damned best to get your hands off him, but he's bucking his ass against you while you fuck him open with your new and improved cock. He feels so much _tighter_ like this, and wetter; you're definitely sure he's wetter, like he's enjoying how much bigger you are now. You swear he'd be moaning if he was able to, but you're not sure you want to risk letting him.

You're not sure you want to risk letting him, but you find yourself loosening your hold on his throat anyway. The first thing he does is gasp for air, and you feel him tighten up again, fluid gushing against your crotch.

Shit, did he just cum? He stops clawing at your hands and you loosen your grip a little more, he’s breathing heavily as it is and his eyes open to look at you, unfocused and hazy. He absolutely just came.

 _Fuck_ , that’s hot.

You get that much more into it knowing that you made a succubus just about cum his brains out. He hisses as you get moving again, but you were right, he starts moaning almost immediately, arching his back and hooking his ankles behind your thighs, trying to pull you closer. The ache in your cock that’s been driving you forward is almost unbearable as you wrap your hand around his throat and press down, reaching between the two of you with your free hand to pin him in place. He actually reaches down to guide your hand to the squirming tentacle of his cock, and it squeezes around your thumb with surprising strength, leaving a reddish slime trail in its wake like a massive, warm slug.

That really shouldn't be any kind of erotic mental image, but you lean forward and press more weight down on his throat, and you move with renewed lust, chasing your impending orgasm like it'll kill you if you don't.

"Fuck, you're really getting into this, aren't you?" You pant, looking down at him, watching the words he's trying to form without breath. He's red in the face and you think you kind of want to kiss him. This is, quite frankly, the most fucked up thing you've ever done, and you don't even have any decency left to care as you thrust into him one more time and just about cum _your_ brains out. You shudder all over as your muscles lock up and you see white, and the relief is so good you could almost scream. You're not sure if you _don't_ scream. It almost hurts.

When you start coming back to yourself, you realize you can hear laughter. It's a low chuckle at first, and then you come back to yourself and realize it's just him laughing it up.

"What's so funny?" You ask, still panting from the exertion of it all. You move to pull out of him, and it's a little shocking to see how much cum dribbles out of him when you do, staining the sheets under you. Like that is at least ten of your normal orgasms worth of jizz right there, and you kind of hope the effects of whatever he did to you aren't permanent if that's the kind of cleanup you'll be expecting.

"Done already?" He teases, and you're about to bristle at that, but also you're probably in severe danger of death by cock-dehydration. You might have a headache, though you're not sure if the headache is caused by the lack of fluids or the way he keeps mocking you despite everything he's done to you. At least you feel less bad about choking him, if he's actually hungry for more.

You're still hard. Despite all logic and the fact that you just had the biggest ten-in-one orgasm of your life, you're still rock fucking solid, and that smug look on his face tells you that he's the reason for both those facts. He runs his fingers down his body with a purr, trying to tempt you probably, like yeah go ahead there's nothing bad that'll happen if you go another round in that entirely life-ruining addiction just waiting to happen.

Asshole.

You narrow your eyes at him and, before he can pull anything else, you grab hold of his tail to make sure he can't use it on you as you flip him over.

He actually squawks, something that sounds like "Mother _fucker!_ " and something that sounds like maybe a bit of pain. You tell yourself you don't care. You'd be lying; you like it.

It's a struggle to maneuver him with all the limbs in the way, his tail is trying to coil around your arm, and he shrieks indignantly as he's manhandled. You manage it anyway, pinning him down with your hands on his shoulders and all your weight over his back, your knees pinning his thighs. He looks over his shoulder at you, breathing just as hard as you are. You thought he was hot before, but goddamn, he's looking a lot better now that you're the one in control of the situation. When he growls at you, those razor teeth on full display, it still makes your dick twitch, but now you're pretty certain he's doing it to make you wreck him.

You tease the folds of his cunt, just to be a prick for how much you know he wants it. He growls again, trying to press back against you, his pupils dark and wide, drowning-deep.

"What the rush?" You find yourself saying, grinding up and down his slit, amazed that he hasn't stopped leaking cum and his own fluids just yet. Damn. "Thought you wanted to savor this. Now that I've got you figured out for the bottom bitch you are, this should be a lot better for you."

"It would be if you would actually fuck me instead of running your mouth." He grumbles, petulantly; would be cute if he wasn't still kind of monstrous and probably completely capable of wrecking your shit six ways to Sunday, but he's not doing that for some reason; maybe because you're sort of giving him what he wants, or ready to do it. Maybe because he just came so hard you must've busted something. You don't know how demons work.

He whines and your cock aches but you want this more than you want air.

You shift your position on his thighs a little, your weight bearing down on his shoulders even more, pressing him into the grimy mattress. He grunts uncomfortably, tail trying to lash against your grip, but you ignore that despite the danger of the barb at the end because you're busy moving a hand down to his ass. He freezes when he feels you cup one of the cheeks, ears twitching like he's listening for something, and you find yourself grinning as you find a hole back there, too.

Well, it'd be weird if he didn't have one, but he doesn't really need one, you think? Demons are weird. This only makes things better for you, though, so you'll give it a pass.

You push your cock against his ass and feel him shiver as the head catches on the rim, just slightly, just enough that he knows what you mean to do. The size of your magically-enhanced dick looks obscene next to how small that hole is, but you figure, hey, shapeshifter; he'll make it fit, somehow, right? When he wiggles his hips is enough for you to decide you don't need to be told twice, pushing inwards to test just the kind of give his flesh has. You feel him twitch, and then very slightly, you manage to get through.

" _Fuck_!" He hisses, clenching up around you in a way that's almost frightening. You've only got half the head in so far but it's even tighter than his cunt, almost too much; the heat is even more striking than in his mouth, especially being that you didn't bother trying to stretch him out and he seems actually legitimately surprised. You bite your lip and start pushing in deeper, and he actually does loosen up, though not by much; you suspect he's actually changing around you a little, breaking himself in and drawing you in deeper but giving you something to fight against at the same time.

It's slick inside, but not by much, and if you weren't hard earlier you're definitely hard now. You're amazed when you get all the way in, and more than a little disconcerted. You pull him up with an arm hooked under his ribs and you swear you can feel the bump of your cock pressing against the wall of his abdomen; he's slender enough around the waist that you could believe it. He moans when you bring him up, claws biting into your arm as he steadies himself and writhes against you. His skin is a lot smoother now that you take the time to notice it, almost slick, like the weird, coiling length of his tail.

You're pretty much at a complete loss for words but so is he, only a crickety chirring noise in the back of his throat. You reach between his legs, past the weird, writhing tentacock, and plunge a couple fingers into the still-dripping heat of his cunt and he gasps, rocking back against you, and you think, yeah, actually, you could sell your soul for sex like this. You are pretty damn certain that if this is the kind of sex you'd be having in Hell, you don't care what they do to you otherwise.

You pull your fingers out of his cunt and he whimpers, at least until you get the bright idea to stick your fingers in his mouth. You're surprised he doesn't bite down for a second, and then your mind stutters to a halt while the rest of your blood rushes down South, when you feel his tongue coiling and twisting along the digits, and then the knuckles, and then the curve of your thumb, catching every dribble of your mixed fluids he can get.

You can't take it. You can't. No man was made with a will strong enough to deal with this kind of treatment.

You slide your fingers out of his mouth and his parted lips, though you take the time to run your fingers over the softness of them as he pants and grunts while you fuck his ass. You don't even care what he's getting out of it, strings of spit sliding down his chin while his eyes roll up as you push into him balls-deep. You grab his chin and kiss him, right on the mouth; you kiss him like he belongs to you, and he lets you, sucking on your lips just enough to coax you into dipping your tongue into his mouth. It's a really, really stupid idea.

He bites you. You taste blood, coppery and hot. You moan louder as the tears prickle in the corners of your eyes; as he rocks back against you, sweaty and eager; as you put your hands on his hips and drive into him as hard as you can. You're certainly going harder than would be safe or sane for anal with a human, and you decide then and there that you're the worst demon hunter to ever exist.

As it stands, the pain in your mouth is bright and stinging, and you're honestly more alive than you've been in months. You feel the scoring sharpness of his claws against your bare hip, and you kiss him harder, hands bruising-tight around his throat and three fingers deep in the pulsing tightness of his cunt. He shudders and clamps his thighs over your hand, whimpering as you force yourself knuckle-deep in there, more grinding into him than thrusting, short bursts of movement because you don't want it to stop.

You feel him squirt against your hand, his whole body locking up, that writhing tentacle strangling your wrist, and it lights you up like a lightning strike, all heat and electricity behind your teeth as you come undone. It rushes out of you like a knot coming loose, taut then slack then whip-tight. You're pretty sure you bite down on some part of him but you're not sure what.

You let go of him and he slumps onto the mattress, ass up and face down, both holes gaped slightly and dripping with an unholy amount of pink slime. It's disgusting. You have an even worse urge to lean in and kiss it, and you kind of hate that. You wipe your hand through your hair, slumping against the back of the car, just about ready to pass out.

It would be a terrible idea to pass out with a succubus in the car, though, so you fish around in the back for something to get said succubus out.

He comes to, eyes bleary and deeply unsettling, too wide and too red- glowing, actually- but you've already loaded Baby Dave's First Handgun with a fresh magazine and you have it pointed right at him. He looks shocked, surprisingly enough. Maybe a little betrayed. His tail flicks side to side like an agitated cat.

He licks his lips. Your finger ghosts over the trigger. "Do you really want to splatter demon brains all over your mattress tonight?" He pleads. "After all the fun we just had? You even got to keep your soul. You got a bigger dick. I think you got the better deal than I did, why make it even more unfair?"

You hesitate, but you don't stop pointing the gun at him. "First of all, you fucking raped me." You say. "I don't know if that's how you greet people in Hell, but I'm still pretty fucked up by the whole experience that you are calling fun. Not that clean cut around here, actually, though maybe that's because nothing's very clean cut with me, I don't fucking know. Point being: Raped me."

He pouts, tilting his head forward. The barrel of the gun parts his hair a little, and he looks shockingly, horribly young, all of a sudden, the way his bones are fit together, the roundness of his cheeks. Shit, did he change himself into that or did you just fuck the demonic equivalent of a teenager? God, you don't want it to be any of that. You're just exhausted.

"Second of all, you broke into my car." You tap the gun against his face, but he doesn't seem all that fazed actually. Your eye twitches. "Third, you have a gun to your face and you're not acting like this is unusual or even particularly inconveniencing and it's freaking me the fuck out."

He stares you down, even with the gun right there- and he tilts his head up and licks the very tip. You don't like that at all, nope. You definitely don't like it when he starts tonguing the hole at the end, stopping with the barrel held just barely between his lips, but his eyes are entirely on you.

"Fourth..." You gulp. Your mouth is dry, and you're having trouble thinking what you want to say.

You should shoot him. You should put him back where he belongs right now, immediately, yesterday even. But he looks at you with that hauntingly young face and luminous almost-glare and you can't do jack shit. You grit your teeth and your fingers ghost just barely over the trigger again, tapping it slightly, but every tap just drives it home deeper.

"Fuck."

That's all you say, and you lower the gun, rubbing your hand down your face. You expect him to disappear as you do so, but he doesn't; instead, you feel the mattress dip a little more, and his weight settles between your legs again. You wince at the thought, oversensitive from all the friction from earlier. His tongue curls at the tip of your cock and you gasp as you feel the hardness coming back, and you think, you're fucking ruined.

He doesn't say anything, or even laugh, but you do. You swear, you run your fingers over his nubby little horns and the coarse, thick fluff of his hair, curling around his ears. You feel him swallow you whole and your toes curl with pleasure while you beg for mercy, because your body apparently still can't get enough of him but you're not sure how much more you can take.

" _Fuck_ , Goddamn _mother_ \- do I even have any more to _give_?" You ask. "Pretty sure the tank's empty, dude, God, holy _shit_ , I _cannot_ believe you're still slobbering for this prime hunk of beef here when you've already taken a pounding in both holes, one of them _twice_ -"

He silences you by swallowing your whole cock, looking up at you with an actual glare, and fuck if that isn't one of the sexiest things you've ever seen in your life. You gasp from it, grab his horns, thrusting into his waiting throat until he gags. This is some Grade-A fantasy bullshit right here, and it's a lot better when you can control the pace of his bobbing, though it's his decision when he actually swallows and when he just chokes. You think you like it better when he chokes, tight and twitching, and the noises.

He purrs around you with what feels like his whole throat, his smooth, warm palms gliding up and down your hips and thighs while he just about sucks the soul out of you like he said he'd do earlier, like he'd tried to do while you were asleep, and you're entirely too fucked up by the whole thing to resist as he does it. You're not sure if he's literally sucking the soul out of your dick, but you imagine this must be what it would feel like if he is.

You wish you knew his name.

You think you might say it at some point that you wish you knew his name.

He won't give it to you just like that, of course, that's not how demons roll, but you wish you had something to scream more than inarticulate noises when you arch your back and twist your fingers in his hair harder, push him all the way down your cock until he's fighting to get off of you, until you're a little scared he's gonna bite your dick off but that thought and the faintest scrape of his teeth finally, finally, forces you to cum just one fantastically agonizing more time.

It's visibly less than the previous two. Somehow that surprises you, you really thought you'd be cumming like a faucet the whole way. There's still enough to fill his cheeks to bulging when you're done, a couple strands streaking across his face and hair. You feel like a sun-dried lemon, that's how much fluid you've lost, and your dick makes a pretty valiant effort but it's really got nothing left at this point even with freaky demon magic giving you the refractory period of a porno protagonist. God.

He swallows, though he gives you the benefit of watching him do it as he opens his mouth and you watch your spooge slide down his throat, coaxed down with a much more humanly-proportioned tongue. It's pretty fucking nasty that you still feel the smallest pangs of arousal at the sight, but mercifully, he finishes off his meal and closes his mouth, sitting back on his calves and cleaning his face with a swipe of his hand.

The jizz disappears when he passes his fingers over it, you're not sure how and you're not sure you want to know. He's still looking at you, like he's looking for something in your expression. Probably looking for a signal that you're still ready to go, or that you're not going to shoot him after all. Your hand is still clasped tight around the handle of your gun, though you've somehow kept your finger off the trigger this entire time. He was a frigid, neurotic, micromanaging son of a bitch, but at least good old Bro taught you a little about gun safety.

Shame he couldn't have taught you about dealing with something like this properly.

The succubus finishes cleaning his face, and maybe he finds what he was looking for because he clears his throat and says something you don't quite understand.

You blink. "Come again?"

"My name, jackass." He says, his dark lips curled up in a snarl. It feels... more real somehow, than the sexually aggressive hellspawn from earlier. He looks sated, and tired, and pissed, which is weird because uh, you're pretty sure sex that good shouldn't make someone so crotchety. "I said you can call me Karkat."

"What like, your True Name?" You reel a little at that, you just met after all. He blows a little hair out of his face.

"If you still believe in that ancient bullshit, yeah, I guess, same as the name your daddy gave you is your True Name." He folds his arms across his chest and folds in on himself a little, fitting a little better into the car. He definitely looks younger, which is, deeply disturbing to be honest. But he looks more filled out, too. Less xenomorph, more... sexy xenomorph, you guess. Healthier. You shake your head.

"Why are you telling me that?" You ask. You shake the gun at him. "I still got half a mind to banish you out of here."

"Put that fucking thing down." He growls with such conviction and command you actually do it before you can think about it, surprised at yourself. He glares. "Obviously, dickface, you gave me one of the most filling meals I've had in a long time and I don't feel so keen on letting you out of my sight just yet, and also, I could very literally taste every ounce of misery in your puny mortal form while I was chowing down."

"Eugh." You wince. "Please don't say it like that. I've been on enough weird bits of the internet to know what vore is, I don't want to think about it right now."

"Oh for crying out loud." He actually rolls his eyes. "Don't know why I bother. I could be in Los Angeles right now, ironic as the name would be; I could be sucking off some other desperate druggies in alleys up and down the city; druggies, by the way, that taste at least marginally less bitter and jaded just because they're constantly on amphetamines."

He gets so worked up you think he might have forgotten you're there. "Then why are you bothering out here, in the middle of Ass-end, Indiana?" You cut in.

"Because I don't have a ride." He answers.

It hits you. In fact, it hits you embarrassingly hard, like the worst punchline to a pun you've ever heard in your entire life.

"You want me to give you a lift." You say, and he stops. He sputters.

"I could've picked anyone else who came by. You're convenient, though, and conveniently pent-up and attractive. The fact that you're a hunter didn't really factor in until I was already breaking into your car and sucking your dick." You have to stifle a laugh as he rubs his hands up and down his arms, and you think you see something like goosebumps. Is he cold? You don't think he can be cold. The mosquitoes and humidity are still killing you. You swat one on your arm with a disgustingly tactile squish, and a drop of blood on your palm.

"So, like. This is basically you're plan." You scratch the bite, feeling it already swelling under your nails. "You're going to whore yourself to a hunter until you can get to LA. Yeah, okay, that sounds like a plan. Few weeks of a ride, though; sure you're not gonna get sick of me and my complete failure ass?"

It's meant to be humorous, but he actually looks like he's stung by that, like he wants to comfort you. This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. This entire thing with you being chummy with the demon who just drained you drier than your pasty, chapped lips in the summer is fucking ridiculous.

He seems to recognize it's ridiculous, too, at least, as he bites it back and shakes his head. You think it's cute, in a way. Still terrible, but cute, which doesn't spell "great, especially mentally" for anything about you.

So fucked up.

"That's exactly the plan, and besides, I can make you slightly less of a deplorable, disgusting failure on every conceivable level if you let me." You call bullshit, he's a demon. There's no way a demon will know how to run your life better than you do even if you're running yourself into the ground. He seems to pick up on your skepticism because he goes on. "I mean it! I can help, I'm a succubus and what are succubi for if not fulfilling desire, right?"

"Being cheesy as Hell, apparently, you're not going to fix me." You tilt your head back against the wall of the car and hear him as he snorts.

"You should listen to yourself when you're trying to talk dirty. But no, I'm not going to fix you. I'm going to make you desirable. People will want to hire you, if you let me get in on this. And all you have to do is let me take a ride to Los Angeles, yeah?" He puts on that sultry, half-lidded look again and honestly you just want to get some fucking sleep. You want to deal with all of this never. It drives him a little crazy, by the sound of it, because he grabs you by the shoulders and looks you in the eye.

"Give me a ride and I'll suck your dick every day of the way there." He growls. "And besides that, I'll get you somewhere to shower, something to eat, and if you're really fucking lucky, some actual goddamn money."

Well shit, you don't know if you'll survive that but even your exhausted genitals know this is probably a great idea, right? There's a catch, of course. There's absolutely a catch. You ask what it is. He sighs.

"The catch is that there is no catch. It's a straightforward deal, asshole, you take me to Los Angeles and I make sure you want to take me to Los Angeles, and then we part fucking ways and never have to deal with each others' company again. Maybe someday you'll put that bullet between my eyes and we'll call it even." He huffs and lets you go, his tail whipping around behind him; it looks shorter now, and blunter, you're not sure what for. "Can we agree on that? Please? I really don't want to hang out here any more."

You look him up and down, his round-ish face and too-large teeth, his horns and red eyes and monstrous overall everything. You shrug.

"Yeah, alright." But you lean back and hold a hand up before he can drag you to the driver's seat. "I want to sleep this off first, and then we can deal with all that, okay?"

He hovers over you, eerie in the moonlight. But you've had your fair share of eerie, moonlit visages, and his is one of the prettier, realer ones. You put a hand over your eyes. "Okay?"

"... Okay." He says. You feel the mattress unbend, and you hear him shuffling around on the other side. "Rest up and I guess we'll get this done tomorrow. Or later, as the case may be."

"Cool." You answer. You take a deep breath and sigh, turning into your side to avoid a cooling, sticky wet spot with a grunt. "For what it's worth? My name's Dave."

He doesn't answer to that. Maybe he shrugs, or maybe he's watching you sleep. You don't have it in you to care anymore, not with your pants around your knees and your entire body so wrung out you could be used to measure seaside humidity. You think you hear him mumble but you don't really have it in you to care anymore.

You have no idea what it's like in LA. You have no idea what Karkat will do to the people there. You have no idea if there are demons there beyond the metaphorical, or if you're single-handedly opening what may very well be the beginning of a Hellgate.

But damn, after all that? You're going to sleep like a fucking baby. You don't give a single fuck, except for the three you already gave. Karkat's breathing is a slow, steady constant in your half-dreaming, and you wonder, with the last bit of conscious thought you have, that maybe moving your operation to Los Angeles is a better deal than here.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to write and link me to a sequel if you do it! Honestly just play the song "LA Devotee" on loop and you've probably got a pretty good idea of what to write by virtue of it being an angsty song involving magical traditions and Los Angeles.


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